


Crave You

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Longing, Songfic, Trigger Warnings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Song: Crave YouThe club affectionately known simply as Crave can cater for any taste, any desire.  Who knows what you could find there?  Who knows what you could be?  There is only... what you crave.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Original Female Character(s), Hanzo Shimada/Original Female Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are all M rated short stories. No particular order, no particular chronology. Inspired by the song: Crave You.

The slender man in the spangly coat stands at the desk, greeting everyone. The desk is discrete and subtly expensive—a green marble top with carved flowers on the vertical edges. The base is mahogany and there are carpets of mottled shades of moss and occasional dots of cream. Frosted glass fixtures give diffuse pools of light with ivory walls with brick and dark wood trim with huge vases of thickly lush palms and ferns give the illusion of pools of privacy.

There are two arches that branch off the main downstairs room to show a lush bar and lounge and a room of small performance stages and lush leather couches. A horseshoe staircase arches effortlessly overhead as if the two upper hallways go to heaven or hell. Or both behind the stout wooden doors. Over it all a crystal chandelier twinkles like a nebula of stars caught in a glittering net.

The man smiles at everyone, giggling at the extravagantly dressed people wandering through. He takes coats and whisks them away with an ivory slip to get them back. Well tailored suits, bespoke grays and navies and blacks, are so common that they seem to be as required as the slickly shiny brogans and oxfords. Cocktail dresses and evening gowns in a variety of styles ripple like a rainbow in water and designer shoes that cost the moon are everywhere. Gems glitter around necks and on fingers like casual comets. And nothing seems to surprise the man at the desk.

What does this club offer for the huge fees and payments, the numerous requirements for references, the credit checks, the endless paperwork and waiting.

The man will only give a smile.

Of course you are welcome to go to the bar over to the right. Fine liquors and wines, single batches from small, exclusive breweries. A chef from somewhere expensive offers daily specials for those wanting something exquisite to eat—delicacies from most anywhere in the world.

Or there are adult entertainments to the left. Small platforms offer multiple, short performances to suit most any desire and dark corners offer privacy for whatever can be negotiated for. Small shots—singly or in flights—are available and the performers are free agents, allowing them to be hired away. To be persuaded to do most anything.

And upstairs?

Well, those are for private matters.

Like what?

He will just smile and shrug. His eyes—a startling violet shade that seems unreal—will sparkle. For a moment it will seem unreal, such a thick and luxe color with a glint that at first seems to be warm and laughing, but then seems like a thick layer of sparkle over a drugged out high. Then, he will smile wider and lean close.

Those rooms?

They are there for you.

And whatever you crave.


	2. Genji

_Why can’t you want me like the other boys do?  
They stare at me while I stare at you._

Bunny stood on the platform, posing as yet another eager businessman takes photos of her barely legal costume. It was mostly sequins and paste gems literally glued onto her skin. The gold chains dripped between her breasts like an exotic leash and her long, bleached hair bounced in waves as if she had just come from a Rivera beach. There was a thong—flesh colored with more gems and sequins—and a fluffy piece of rabbit fur right at her ass.

Bored gazes met hers.

Too much for too long and the shadowed shapes were spoiled by excess and constant adoration. They were here to have their jaded appetites whetted and to find the most rare commodity of all—novelty.

This was where the long time rich could safely indulge their atrocities and their appetites. They could eat and drink in the lounge, network and subtly exchange information to protect their power, their wealth and cover their perversions. It was a polite way to avoid legislation, to avoid prosecution, and to avoid prickly little questions.

Here was where they could relax. If they wanted something, they needed to merely wave for their personal server—almost a temporary slave—and they could get it. A straw and a mirror? No problem—it would be whisked over. A pack of cigarette papers so that homemade rolls could be made? Not even a delay. An addict could get more of anything they wanted, no matter what their particular perversion was.

Hands from shadows could trace the sweat on her bare legs, her flanks, her back as she stood on the little platform. A recessed light high above her shown down and she could beg on her knees, bend over. Customers milled around carelessly, looking bored as they hoped for something new to pique their interest.

Dark skinned fingers stuck out in the light and automatically Bunny opened her mouth to suck on them. She wagged her little tail and her hands jiggled her breasts so that the sequins shimmied in the light. A hand caressed her from behind, pulling her tiny thong aside for a moment before releasing it to snap against her skin.

Bunny dared to look up and she could barely make out a pair of dark eyes and a thick, black beard. When he smiled, it was a moon of unreal white. Nervously, she swallowed around the thick fingers and her tongue lapped around the rough skin, which made him smile more.

Someone broke the silence around her and the man looked away. He nodded at someone else and pulled back away from her. Then he walked away with a hearty greeting. Bunny stood and caught the gaze of someone else as she jiggled and giggled as the reflected sparkles danced around the room.

As Bunny spun around, she saw the tall, splendid form with the shock of green hair walk in. His almond eyes glanced around the room as more shadowed men moved around him. A server came up and fawned and bowed as he led them to a cloth covered table in the corner with a small cube light in the middle of the table. They sat down and the server bowed again before practically running off to get whatever he wanted.

The little platform lit up beneath Bunny’s high heels and she waved at the people without being able to see whether they were looking back at her. The music didn’t stop—only changed songs—as she stepped down and a young man in a negligee stepped up.

Freed from the performance, she sauntered through the tables. Whoever he was—no one ever had names here, only table numbers and favorites—he had plenty of money since he got three bottles delivered along with a tray of carafes of juice and a martini glass with slices of lemons and limes and oranges clinging to the edge.

“Hey handsome,” she purred, shimmying next to the table.

Two of the guys—all of them Japanese by the look of them—looked up and scowled at her, but she wasn’t there for them. The green haired man gave her a short nod as he leaned back and whispered an immense order of food. The server nodded eagerly and wrote two pages of notes on the little book he carried with him. Then he slunk away into the shadows and dodged the large potted palm tree before hurrying away.

“How are you doing?” Bunny called again, shaking her shoulders so that her sequins sparkled in the dim light. The two scowling men glanced around the table and shrugged as the green haired man said something. “Are you having a good night?”

Finally, the green haired man—a smooth cheeked man who looked like he would never age—twitched his tailored silver suit so that it hung on his shoulders in some imperceptibly better way and gave her a brilliant smile. Bunny flushed in pleasure and squeezed her upper arms so that her breasts plumped up which seemed to please everyone at the table. At least, it made him nod and one small curl of green flopped down over his brow.

“Oh... ahh... hello there, beautiful,” he finally murmured.

“Hey, I’m... I’m Bunny,” she whispered.

His eyes were somewhat distant and Bunny felt her stomach go to her feet. He simply nodded at her, his hand going to the table. Bunny shivered at the long tapering fingers and couldn’t resist licking her lips. Whoever the green haired man was, he seemed to move so gracefully, to be so confident and so sure and so... completely in control. A whole table simply sat and waited for him to speak.

“Ahh... utsukushi usagi,” he chuckled in that light, careless tenor.

Bunny blinked in confusion as the rest of the men laughed. The server came up with a pair of tray holders and she stepped back. Tears just about filled her eyes as one of the other men at the table reached up to cup her buttock. Bunny jumped at the sudden, warm hand and then felt the edge of the tray brush her bare back and she lurched forward again to dodge the people coming forward with trays of little plates of delicacies.

The green haired man shot a stern look at the man holding Bunny until his hand dropped. The server’s team of people had seen it all before and simply began putting plates on the table and distributing small plates in front of each man. He looked back up at her and said, “Chisana usagi—don’t mind him.” Bunny smiled and nodded, wiggling her sparkling body. “But, we... ahhh....”

“Go away,” hissed the man closest to her. “We’re busy.”

“Oh,” she whispered with a sad pout. “I see....”

The green haired man snapped something that apparently scolded and suddenly the table went silent and politely folded their hands on the cloth. Finally he looked up at her impatiently and waved his hands. “Ahh... miss. Please excuse us.”

Bunny forced herself to smile and nod. “O-o-of.. of course!”

“Thank you,” he sighed. “And... of course, we... thank you for your... ahh... time.”

Bunny nodded again and spun to try to find an easy way to get back into the crowd. Whoever the green eyed man was, she had come up to him every time. Ever since she had watched him chase one of his guests from a woman he had cornered behind to of the potted plants, she had paid attention. He brought in groups of men to eat and to drink and to watch the performers, but he didn’t tolerate them jumping the men or the women who were there to serve them.

A large, heavy man in a dark suit with a red shirt waved her over and gamely she was put on the table in front of him on her knees. She raised her limp hands up like a begging Labrador, sat and posed as he smiled and ate his grilled meat and drank his whiskey. The man at the table spoke with a strange lilt to his voice and she obeyed him without hearing him. He liked her being a pet, called her a bunny and had her keep posing, wiggling her nose, and tossing her hair.

The green haired man was ignoring her. Even when the guy grabbed her hair and tugged her so that she was on all fours with her bunny tail in the air, the green haired man looked idly across the room. Bunny felt the man push a carrot to her lips and automatically she opened her mouth. It slid back and forth along her lips like an orange dick and she looked at him even though her mind was at the other table.

The green hair man waved towards the server who brought out a tray with a mirror in the bottom. The men all nodded eagerly as he took out some small bags. One took a spoon off the tray and another poured out something and picked up one of the table knives to split whatever it was—it looked green in this room—into lines on the tray. The server whizzed away and came back with a crisp stack of papers, which they rolled into tubes.

Bunny shivered as the green haired man grimaced and sat back as the men at the table passed the tray around. They were quite pleased and their grins grew predatory as each of them had their share. Then the tray was, of course, whisked away the moment they were done and Bunny sighed around the carrot in her mouth.

The man in front of her grunted sourly and snapped several times in front of her face. Bunny flushed and her eyes snapped to him. That made him laugh and he grabbed the back of her head.

“Pretty little pet,” he rumbled in a low voice. “Wriggle your nose, rabbit.”

Bunny did. There was no point in making him mad. There was no point in getting in trouble if he decided to make a complaint. She wiggled her tail, bounced her ass. Little sparkles dripped on to the table in a dizzy pattern. He released her and she sat up on her heels again, her hands under her breasts so that her costume glittered.

He went back to the meal in front of him, sipping the whiskey. It felt like forever as he slowly ate right there in front of her. Then he waved imperiously at the server who came to take his plates. “Another bottle, too.”

Bunny shivered at the deep voice and the shaking feeling that he wasn’t done with her yet. Her eyes traced around him and she swallowed heavily around the carrot. She could see only a wide silhouette and then his huge hands as they wrapped around the tumbler to sip more.

And of course, the server came back with a new bottle in moments. Her customer... client... whatever and whoever he was, smiled as his glass was refilled and then he snapped again. “Bring a cart.”

“Of course, sir!”

Then there it was—a heavy steel cart with a shelf underneath the top that held a number of things—and straps around the legs of the cart. The server offered her only a cursory smile and waved at her. “Crawl onto the cart, Bunny.”

She did as she was told and crawled onto the heavy steel cart. The server laid her on her back and strapped her legs and arms to the legs of the cart. She could expect to be wheeled somewhere now for whatever this man wanted to do with her and she wanted to weep as she felt the server lower her head slowly.

The large man set down his drink with a heavy thunk. “Let me see.”

The server wheeled her up right next to him. He dug his thick fingers into her hair, pulling it this way and that. He pulled a hank away and scraped a finger along the roots of her hair.

“This all natural?”

The server only sniggered and replied, “All natural and organic.”

“Hmm... free range, too.”

The server spun the cart this way and that as the client squeezed her breasts and tugged on the thong. Bunny stared at the upside down figure of the green haired man as he kept leaning back and looking around over the edge of his tumbler as his men got high or drunk or whatever they were doing. The customer grunted at his server and finally poured some of the whiskey over her body. With a practiced sweep of his hands, the server swept aside the glued on paste gems and sequins.

“Nice. Natural breasts?”

“Yes, sir. All natural.”

“Is she a screamer?”

The server smiled and shrugged. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Yeah. Figured that.”

She wanted to cry. Cry out to the green haired man—whoever he was—and go back to him. Go to sit beside him—even if he ignored her—and get away from this man as he pried apart her lips to push a thick finger inside her.

“She’s dry.”

“Oh, I’m sure that she could be... ahh... warmed up.” The server kicked the cart and Bunny took in a shaky breath as he began to pluck and stroke her. Whimpering, she forced herself to relax. “As you can see, Bunny is simply a scared little thing.”

The finger crooked inside her and Bunny let out a soft sound. “I liked her dry.”

“My apologies, sir!” the server gasped.

Bunny let out another shocked gasp to see the green haired man stand up. One of his men looked like he was going to fall backwards out of his chair and a dizzy array of feet walked back and forth. His slick shoes came forward, right up to the cart and the server’s dark shoes backed away.

“Ogundimu-san—is that you?” 

“Shimada? Genji Shimada?” her client rumbled.

“Akande-san—it is you.”

“Please—sit down. We’ll have something to drink. To eat.”

The shoes walked out of her vision and she felt more than heard the chair slide back on the thick carpet. “It has been too long. My father is still very impressed with the latest prosthetics your company has produced and we appreciated your invitation to visit your home country.”

The finger pulled away and Bunny took in a breath that actually steadied her nerves as he turned to his guest. “Our latest models are going to be presented in a few weeks.”

“Really?”

“I will forward an invitation to you. There is a top of the line arm prosthetic that I think will interest Sojiro.”

“My honored father will be glad to attend your presentation.”

“I am presenting in Egypt.” He rumbled softly. “And of course there is a celebration afterwards.”

“We do thank you,” the green haired man replied. “I do remember when Sojiro bought his arm from you.”

“Mmm... yes. The LDS with the pulse gun in the top.” Bunny tried not to squirm at the cold, casual terms. “We have a better model this year with a higher capacity. It can also interface with most medial equipment to regulate typical medical pumps.”

“How gratifying that you are doing so well,” the green haired man—Genji—purred.

“So what brings you here?”

“A bit of business—nothing important compared to your endeavors.”

“Ahh....” Akande sat back in his chair with a creaking sound that only Bunny heard as the performers switched platforms again. “I see.”

“As you can see, I have been doing some... team building while we are here. To improve morale.”

“I see,” Akande nodded and Bunny heard drinks being poured. “Quite the management material. And how is your family?”

“Ahh... you know how my honored father is. He is quite busy with his management of the clan. We recently expanded and gained some territory in Hokkaido.”

“Has he arranged a marriage for you?”

“Of course, Father is busy with the matchmakers and fortune tellers to find an auspicious bride. My brother is also quite busy helping establish the Hokkaido crew these days, so he is rarely home to meet with any of the prospective brides.”

There was a polite pause and Genji continued, “And you? How is Akinjide-san?”

“As cross and ill-tempered as usual. It was no surprise that our fathers are such good friends.”

“Not as long as you make such excellent devices.”

“Or as long as you keep providing us with such excellent heroin.” He took another drink. “That helps us develop such wonderful employee... loyalty to the company.”

They laughed together in a pleasant mix of bass and tenor tones. Then Genji spoke again. “Tell me, what were you planning with her?”

Bunny jumped in the restraints as a large hand seemed to squeeze her entire belly in one palm. Akande let out a pleased hum. “I was thinking of taking this one home. We have a new line of Omnic prosthetics to enhance little pets like this.”

“Really?”

“Everyone sells the usual things—cat ears and tails of dogs or the like. We had a limited run of fish tails that sold well.”

“The koi pattern was popular in Hanamura,” Genji nodded. “The aquarium had a huge campaign about their mermaids.”

“So I decided to expand to do artificial breasts. Something lighter that will not sag or deform. something that will do well on the... long term. Perhaps some artificial penis implants.”

“That will make quite a lot of people happy.”

“We have had a few new investors who wanted those to have a remote to control them. And of course we can then make them as large or small or thick as the customer wants.”

Genji paused and then added, “I would like to see kitsune tails. Multiple thick fox tails with long thick fur.”

“That would be simple enough to make. I could run one up with matching ears and send you a sample model, if you like?”

“We would, of course, thank you, Akande-san.”

“And you’ll have them on the streets in a few weeks so that you can tell me how they perform.”

“Of course.”

Akande laughed heartily. “I will want pictures.”

“We do have a few parlors that cater entirely to online customers. I will be happy to give you a login.”

“That would be fine.”

They waited a beat again before Genji asked, “With all due respect, then—.”

“Ahh... you have an eye on the bunny?” His hand rubbed her skin roughly. “How could I refuse such a good business partner? Enjoy her.”

Bunny almost began crying as the large man stood and began walking away. The green haired man stayed there for a moment more before Bunny felt him undo the straps. She couldn’t see straight as he helped her sit up and then climb down from the cart. “T-th-thank you.”

“Let’s get out of here, huh?”

Bunny nodded wildly as he led her to his table. There were no chairs and none would be brought for her, but the wild eyed men did not seem surprised—or even to notice—as Genji pushed her to the floor behind his chair and muttered for her to stay there. He waved and the server came forward.

“Call cabs for each of the men. Take them to the Ritz and get them to their rooms.” He glanced as one of them grabbed a man in a frilly nightgown. Pointing to the suited man holding onto the ruffled pink gauze, he added, “He’ll be in a room upstairs for the night. Alone.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And put it on the tab.”

The server gestured gracefully to Bunny on the cart. “And your... to-go?”

“She’s coming with me.”

“Very good, sir.”

Then that was that. Genji led her to the front of the building where a sleek, black vehicle waited. No one blinked an eye as she walked out little more than naked—high heeled shoes and a sparkling thong—and he helped her climb in the back seat.

Bunny turned and watched the huge building fade as they traveled smoothly down the driveway. Genji laughed shortly and whispered, “So, Bunny.... How are you doing?”

“Are you taking me back in the morning?” she blurted out as they turned onto the highway and the front of the building disappeared. “Are you...?”

Genji laid a soft finger on her thigh. “Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“On... me?”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Bunny swallowed heavily and sat down and faced the front seat again. “Okay.”

They were in a companionable silence as they pulled up to a stoplight. Finally, he asked, “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like that?”

She shrugged, “I guess like anyone. Someone said that they were looking for dancers and servers and offered top pay and I... I had nowhere else to go.”

“The management should know that Akande only wants to pick up a few to take to his company and modify.”

“The management doesn’t care.” She couldn’t help the bitter tone in her voice. “They only pay in theory and then they charge us for food and board. None of us are getting out because if we get too old or something, then we are put in the kitchens or to do the cleaning. But we don’t live that long.”

“Where do they find you?”

“Anywhere they want.”

Genji nodded with a soft sound. He glanced around at the high-class neighborhood outside of the windows. “I see.”

“Are you going to keep me?”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged elegantly. “Perhaps. Perhaps I will simply... accidentally misplace you.” He shrugged and cocked his head the other way. “They won’t say anything.”

“I know.”

Genji’s room at the Ritz was in the middle of a block and the security people—large men in a rainbow of colors—bowed and let them through. None of them even looked at her and that peculiarly made Bunny feel better as she passed man after man who was tattooed and quite obviously armed. More than one had an obviously prosthetic arm.

They went into the immense room with its king sized bed. Bunny felt her stomach drop again as she stared at it. “Is that what you want?”

Genji pulled off the silver jacket and let it flop aside on a nearby desk. Of course, he had a discrete shoulder holster with a pistol. “If you want.”

Bunny blinked as he began taking off his shirt and then the white undershirt. A green dragon tattoo coiled up from his spine to lay its head over his right shoulder. There were small red or white marks on his dusky skin—here and there—but he was still amazingly fit, amazingly... compact.

So, she nodded and slid down the thong and stepped out of it. “Okay.”

He smiled at her and shrugged as he opened the closet to reveal a huge safe. He waved a card, pressed his thumb to the print reader and then entered in a code with lightning precision. It opened up almost silently to reveal not one but several weapons and several dark colored things she couldn’t see clearly. He settled the weapon inside and closed the door before turning to her.

“Well, I do have a few hours.”

Bunny nodded and sat on the immense, pristine bed. This felt... familiar. She spread her legs and leaned back. “Is this what you want?”

He cocked his head and looked at her with warmth in his eyes as he came up to her. “Baby girl.” His hands went to stroke her thighs. “Are you for real?”

“I’m all natural and organic,” she quipped bitterly.

“All natural?” he repeated with a quizzical look.

“Free range, too.”

“Ahh... a joke.” He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t always get the jokes in English.” One hand went to gently cup her breast. “I don’t want to hurt the free range, all natural and organic you.”

“Oh.”

“Lay back, Usagi.” She laid back at his command, leaving her legs over the edge. “You are beautiful.” He knelt there between her legs and his breath tickled across his skin. “Smell nice too.”

With those sinfully long fingers, he spread her nether lips and began with soft, kitten licks. Bunny felt a rush of prickly chill and then a rush of fire as he kept gently brushing her. One of those fingers just grazed her clit, enough to make her gasp, and then she moaned. Even Bunny could feel the abruptly welcome warmth and wet flood through her.

“Ahh, Usagi—you are a delight. The way you whimper. The way you smell.” He pushed just the tip of a finger into her with a slick sound and felt her buck up against that fingertip. “Just relax and we’ll feel what’s right.”

Bunny’s legs jerked as he pushed his finger inside. He knew just that little crook of his finger so that he found a way to press more pleasure into her. He stroked the thin skin behind her knees, which felt exciting in some new way that no one had ever done before.

“W... what are you doing?” she whispered as he moved.

“Just relax, Usagi.” He had a thick, rough purr in his voice and when she looked down at him, she could see his eyes smiling at her as his tongue lapped the honey slick. “I want to enjoy this.”

Bunny laid back down and her hands went hesitantly to tangle in his green curls. He nodded under her fingertips and slid another finger inside. There was a heated moment that he simply stayed there, frozen, before scissoring his fingers and starting a slow thrusting rhythm. She couldn’t help but push up—however small and unsteady that was on her heels with her legs dripping down on the edge of the bed—in time to that.

“That’s it,” he rumbled against her skin. He went a bit faster, grinning as she moaned. “Now, tell me, do the all natural you want my dick?”

Bunny couldn’t help but nod, tears in her eyes. He slunk away with the grace of a cat, only to stand beside the bed and strip. Her eyes followed each piece of clothing as it hit the floor. Then he climbed back between her legs, his cock hard and hot and silky as it was surrounded by the coarse black curls.

He bucked forward. “Now take my free-range, all natural, organic cock.”

Bunny’s legs went to grip his hips and her hands gripped his lean shoulders. He was all smooth movement as he began thrusting. It felt like he could drive forward like an overheated piston. Almost immediately, the initial warmth she felt was overtaken by lava, by fire.

“Fuck. You’re such a hot little thing,” he muttered into her neck.

She had some reply, some practiced response. Except he didn’t want one, except that breathless sound when he nipped her neck. And that whine when one greedy hand cupped her breast and rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger. Those wordless sounds made him launch faster and harder.

Bunny thrashed, rolling her head wildly as she tried to ride out the waves. He was wild and willing to burn her up. Her muscles locked tighter and tighter, coiling up as he drover her higher and higher. “P-p-please!”

“Yes, baby bunny—fall apart for me.”

She did. That made her thrash wildly, her legs and arms spasms uncontrollable as she tried to cling to him. He was lithe and almost slippery as he kept going and kept nipping her skin, peppering her with little fiery bites.

He groaned and she felt that last, powerful thrust. A shudder went down his spine, making his eyes roll shut and then he sagged forward. Bunny whimpered as she felt him grow limp and pull back, leaving her feeling empty.

His eyes opened to flash into hers. “Don’t worry—I take care of my pets.”

Two fingers slid inside as he propped himself on his elbow and began nibbling her nipples. The heat flooded back and she nodded. He scissored his fingers, made her whine and her legs bend as his tongue lapped her skin. Then, as drips slid out, his mouth went lower to taste her navel.

“What are you doing?” she cried out.

“Just taking care of my usagi,” he purred against her soft skin. “And I always eat my bunny.”

He pushed back just then, his tongue lapping and pushing every inch of her. His fingers curled, scissored, thrust to make her soft whines become cries, become yelps and then full-throated and wordless sounds. Every moment went higher and Bunny couldn’t stop her wild thrashing as she tried to keep up the wild flames inside.

There was a crushing moment when he paused and licked his lips, tossing his wild green hair.

Bunny stared dumbfounded as he bent back down. The final, heated look that locked her eyes as he began to lick and suckle again, as his fingers began moving again. The fire and heat wound her tight, only to shatter her into a thousands pieces. She grabbed his hand and kept thrusting on it, riding it until the last shivers went down to her toes.

At last replete, she curled on her side. Genji simply nodded and pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chin. “Don’t worry, Usagi. I’ll take care of you.


	3. Gabriel/Jack

Crave was like most clubs. It had a few pinpoints of light—the back of the bar lighting up the glistening bottles, the lit up performance platforms, spotlights, occasional lasers crisscrossing the spaces. But there were still dark corners. Places where people could sit and watch others without feeling like they were out in the open in the middle of the throbbing music.

And like most clubs, the daytime hours were dark and almost deserted.

The performers (although everyone knew that they had no choice) could practice with a disinterested audience of cleaners and other employees. The only music would be a boom box and the platform would be lit up, but no sparkles or lasers or spotlights. No drinks. No trays of food or breaks when the guests would want their personal attention.

At least—most of the time.

Reaper loved it in those daylight hours. The dark tables were almost pitch black and even the normally reasonably lit tables were dimmed. No unexpected flashes in his face. No lasers fooling the eye into thinking about sites to a gun. He could get some water and sit back and wait in a sort of relaxed way without the light tracing his mask, filtering through the slight tendrils of smoke from the gaping wounds in his face, or lingering on his red eyes and dark, sharp features.

He drank his water, sitting in one of the heavy booths. The skinny blondes? Not interesting. The nearly nude man with a bald head and sleek leotards? An uninspiring superhero from a comic book. The leggy Italian twins? Utterly forgettable.

He was so still, he seemed to be almost a part of the darkness in the corner table, behind the thick, lush looking plants. As long as he was still, no one even turned to look at him. No, he could wait as long as necessary, unmoving and almost invisible.

He could wait for hours until it happened.

It was rare—of course—that this happened. Sufficiently rare that people might remark, but honestly, in this sort of sordid place, everyone was calloused over to strange happenings. And this was not that bad.

The leather was the first thing Gabriel noticed. It always was. That leather was well loved, well cared for. When the whole world was burning around them, the leather jacket and gloves and boots were shampooed and conditioned with military precision. They would sit for hours with sponges to clean each stripe, the large numbers, and every inch of the leather. Then the rich smell of the leather and the oily conditioner would hang in the air for hours.

That smell was the first thing he noticed.

The next was the heavy footfalls—leather boots with thick soles and steel toed—hitting the thick carpet. It made his heart race to feel the slight vibrations in the carpet and to know what was coming through that shadowed doorway in the almost empty room.

It was kind of odd, but the next thing he noticed was the short, spiky, silver hair. For some reason, it never went white. It was such a rich blond at first, but then went to a burnished gold and then a lightly gilded color before going straight silver. It never went through the nicotine yellow most blond men went through, but it was like he woke up one day silver and it didn’t change after that.

The mask was almost the last thing anyone noticed. A thick, featureless mask that covered him from his eyebrows down to his neck and Gabriel realized that he was actually wearing his own as finally they locked eyes. Without breaking the lock, the man in the almost flamboyant racing jacket with the numbers on the back pushed some folded bills to the server next to him, told him to get lost and then stalked forward. 

The entire room was filled with a delicious tension as the large soldier began walking towards the booth. Reaper leaned back, his long legs almost spread and his arms along the back of the seats. The air was thick with the smells, the feeling of warmth and fire.

“Finally got here, eh, Jackie?” the Latino man purred.

“Finally,” the blond rumbled. “They took my baby at the door.”

They nodded together. 76 slid in close, settling under the big man’s arm like he always had. Whenever they could get away, they found little places to meet. Sometimes it was only a dark alley between buildings. Sometimes it was a seedy hotel room for a few hours. Whenever they could, wherever gave them a place to take off the masks in something like privacy and steal a few hours together.

They found this place together. A smarmy and greasy woman betrayed Talon and Overwatch—selling information to both about each other—and both had tracked her here. He had been waiting in a suit when he saw her, only to find that Jack entered in a leisure sit with his blue tie loose on his chest and the black shirt unbuttoned at the neck. The woman caught Jack’s gaze first and Gabriel got to his feet as she began dodging the tables and people, only to run right into him.

Their gaze had locked over her head and suddenly, she wasn’t so important. If they both hadn’t had someone screaming over the delicate little earpieces, she might have simply walked right out as they scorched each other. Jack gave him a grin and shoved her towards him, well aware that it was a worse punishment than anything Overwatch could do. Gabriel threw his coat over her and tapped her skin with a needle filled with something obnoxious that Moira had concocted. She sagged immediately in Gabriel’s arms in the very appearance of drunken stupor and as soon as he had her picked up, Jack had a cocktail napkin with a date and a time scrawled on it. And they had barely gotten into this very room before their eyes had met and they had ducked into a dark corner together.

Very slowly, cautiously, they took off their masks—the owl of death and the anonymous aiming mask from before the fall of Overwatch, the bombing of the Watchpoint, the fall of what they had been sure was the good guys. The two masks gleamed dully, as if they were smiling to each other, and with them, they let go for a bit of time.

Of course, Crave did have some kind of rules—at least about large weaponry. Jack had built that pulse rifle from bare parts to his own specifications. In the good old days, they had saved money however they could and they knew it was more important to have medical supplies than to order the latest and greatest weapons when they could build pulse rifles and pistols and most of whatever else they needed. Jack had looked up every schematic that he could find and Gabriel had been the one sent out for parts. They built his baby together and—unsurprisingly—it had been stable, reliable, less prone to jamming or burnout, the capacitors were a standard one available anywhere in the world and the batteries were the same ones use in standard small med-packs, which mean that he was basically never without the ability to recharge it.

So now some suited idiot had Baby.

And they’d have to get it back because every parent knew you never left the baby behind.

Jack’s gloved hand came up to the other man’s chest. “You haven’t changed Gabe.”

Gabriel waved a few bills as a server went by with a tray loaded with shots. “Two tequilas. Casa Dragones, neat. Two limes and a cherry.” She nodded and hurried to a part with two tables hastily pushed together then came up to grab the money. “And hurry.”

“Impatient as ever,” the old soldier said.

“Nothing ever changes, eh, Jackie?” The large man put a finger up to trace the silver haired man’s lips. Quite naturally, Jack opened his mouth, bit the tip gently and held the leather as Gabe pulled his finger back and the gauntlet fell between their laps. Then the second one fell. Jack took the moment to lick Gabe’s fingertips. “Nothing ever changes.”

Jack pulled the other man down. “No, Papi—nothing ever changes.”

The server raced past—it was busy tonight—and put two tumblers and a crystal dish almost like an ashtray, but somehow more elegant—on the table. The tequila glistened like a subtle temptation and the small dish held several slices of limes and three artificially red cherries. Gabe picked up a cherry and smiled at it before pressing it against the other man’s lips and making them glisten a faint pink before it was licked away.

Jack went after Gabe’s fingertips next, chasing the sweet maraschino taste and snagging the cherry in his teeth before licking across the fingers and palm. “You taste the same, Papi.”

“Like cherries?” he chuckled.

“Like cherries. Like tequila. Like tobacco in those cigars you kept—keep—smoking.”

“I still smoke them,” he purred.

“Let me taste,” Jack murmured, pulling on the other man’s shoulders. Gently, he brushed a breath against the other man’s lips before pouncing to claim them. Deep touches, warmth that was boiling hot against the Latino’s cool skin, and then tongue against tongue. “You do still smoke them.”

“I told you.”

“And you still drink tequila.”

“Only with you, niño.”

Jack grinned. “That sounds like a challenge.”

They laughed softly, ignoring the throbbing music, the obscene displays of flesh and sex, the people right outside their little oasis of darkness. It was humorous in a way no one else outside the wavering arms of the palms could understand. The SEP made them almost immune to the affects of the tequila, so, instead, they took sips between kisses, and whoever finished last was....

Well, it didn’t matter.

By the time that they finished the tequila, they were usually naked. They were usually well on their way to whatever pleasure they could find.

Still, there was something enticing about fine liquor, about dark corners, about wild fumbling caresses, about being free to be themselves away from politics and commands and orders.

Jack grabbed a tequila and took a swallow. It burned madly, like a coal going down his throat. “Papi—Gabe—what the hell are we doing here?”

Gabe picked up his own and took a sip as Jack coughed slightly. “We are going to enjoy some tequila and then....” His voice became a low, accented rumble in his chest. “I’m going to make you scream.”

Jack laughed. “Yes, Papi.”

A tray dropped somewhere and they leapt apart. Both of them had small pistols—custom made, compact ones that were made from ceramic instead of metal to avoid detection—and were back to back immediately. It was nothing—a slender waiter caught someone’s interest and was slammed against the wall with the customer’s hand all over his cock.

“You’re jumpy tonight, Jackie.”

“You too, Gabe.”

Slowly, they sank back into the booth, away from the attention and noise as other servers tried to clean up the glass around the guest and his prey. Jack slid his small pistol back into his coat and he patted the other man’s thigh. “I’ll protect you, Gabe.”

“Don’t get crazy on me, Jackie.” Nonetheless, he was looking around himself, determined to find the threat before it found him. “Just gotta calm down before we go flying off the handle.”

“I’m not gonna fail you—not again.”

Gabriel looked back at his lover. “Hey—don’t be like that. It wasn’t your fault.”

_Why can’t I keep you safe as my own?_

Jack’s blue eyes—the color of glaciers and burning sulfur—were wide and agonized. “I didn’t keep you safe. Didn’t look out for you.”

“Drink your drink,” Gabe muttered. “Don’t be like that.”

Jack wove in the booth as if he could still get drunk. “I got you into this. I made you like this.”

“Nah—the SEP did that. You couldn’t have known it was a tainted batch.” Gabriel stroked down the other man’s back, fondly tracing the large numbers. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“You just... disappeared. That first time. I... I had you. The monitors were flatlining. You were gone. I held you and I was gonna take you out in my arms.” Jack’s voice shattered. “But then... you vanished.”

_One moment I have you the next you are gone_

“Niño, esta bien.” Gabriel put one large arm over him. “Esta bien.”

Jack had already shattered. “It’s my fault. I should have known. Shouldn’t have pressured you to do it.”

The music switched suddenly—a bad drop on the beat between a slow rock and then a new brass band revival that sent someone running for the music DJ—and raw trumpets and saxophone wailing sadly with a heavy thumping bass drum.

Gabe pulled him up. “Eh, Jackie—come dance with me.” Jack’s eyes watered as the big man pulled him up. The little booth area had just enough room to plaster themselves body to body and to sway gently in time to the music. “That’s it, Jackie.”

“Don’t remember how to dance.”

“You’ll remember. Like riding a bike, eh, Jackie?”

Gabe whirled surprisingly lightly on his feet, swinging Jack gallantly in the tiny space. Jack stumbled slightly, barely making it to the next step without falling against the table. “Don’t worry—you’ll remember.”

“Remember....” he whispered.

“Like riding a bike, Jackie.” They took a heavy step to the side and swung again. “Just like riding a bike.”

Jack chuckled. “You’ve been practicing.” 

_Rehearsed steps on an empty stage_

Gabriel sighed heavily. He had been practicing alone in whatever hovel Talon had managed to put him. Whenever he had a few minutes, he’d practiced. He had a broom, a mop, a rolled up rug if necessary.

It never felt like enough. Never felt like this warm and willing lover. It always seemed like something was off. He had expected that the broom, the stick, whatever it was he was trying to use to fill his own empty arms. Then he’d go off somewhere—wherever he could get a few minutes alone—and pull his cock out. He’d bite his lip to keep from making any noise and hump his fist as fast as he could. His blood would burn in a low boil and then when he came, it would be a momentary relief and enough to take the edge off, but nothing more.

“Nothing to it,” Gabe whispered into the other man’s ear. One rough finger traced the spiky silver hair behind his ear. “Just like old times, eh, Jackie?”

“You got your nerve showing up like this,” Jack whispered without rancor. “Showing up when I... I got nothing.”

“You got your looks. Your boyish face.” He grinned and it was a glow of white teeth like fangs in the darkness. His hand went to the other man’s straining cock, as it tented his worn cargo pants. It was a throbbing ridge and when his long fingers squeezed gently, the old soldier shivered. “You got your... body language.”

Jack growled and the world went white. It had been so long since he had been held like this. So long since he had felt complete, felt treasured. It had been ages since he had been treated like a human being instead of a hero, a mercenary, a soldier. It had been too long since he had been an equal, rather than a scary and bitter superior. “You got time, Reaper?”

“Time? I got all the time you do, Jackie.”

“Time before it all falls apart again.” Jack swayed again, feeling it move him in more ways than one. “Time before we have to play our parts.”

It made Gabe’s blood—that cold stuff that ran in his dilapidated veins—grow cold. “What are you saying, Jackie?”

“Do we have time before we have to go?”

What he meant was ‘before we have to fight again’. Gabe shivered. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Eventually someone would call—one side or the other—and they’d be pulled apart like a wishbone in a tornado. Then they’d see each other mask to mask across a battlefield. His hand squeezed the other man’s cock again, hard enough to almost feel the pulse. “We got time, Jackie.”

The aiming mask beeped just then, the slender orange line blinking.

Both of them looked each other in the eyes and they each saw the regret blooming there. Slowly, they sat back down together and Jack pulled out the slender earpiece from the mask. “Caller respond. Athena—patch it through.”

Gabriel groaned and tugged at the other man’s clothes. The loose pants unzipped as if they had been oiled and—ay caramba—Jack was commando. The pale cock thrust out of the zipper just under the view of the table. Instantly, Gabe began rubbing the tip, gripping and stroking the boiling shaft. Immediately, a bit spurted out the top and Jack grit his teeth as he tried to pay attention to whatever was being said.

The bit of moisture made Gabe’s meaty grip slicker and faster. Jack threw his head back against the booth, his nostrils flaring as he tried futilely to relax and hide that he was falling apart from whoever was on the other side.

Gabe hissed softly in his other ear, “We got time, eh, Jackie?”

That did it. Hot cum shot out right there under the table. Lightning fast, they both snatched the little napkins under the tequila tumblers to try to clean it up. Jack panted heavily and dropped the little device as Gabe gave him one more squeeze to get the last of it out of him, only to hold up his hand and lick it off right where Jack could see it. Jack’s face was red and he gasped again, with a shaky hand fumbled for the tiny electronic earpiece.

“Athena—repeat... repeat last communication.”

The metallic voice crackled in the earpiece so that they both could hear it. “Warning. Unconfirmed reports put Talon operatives in your area. Please consider proceeding to a secured location.”

Gabe couldn’t resist another light squeeze before gently tucking the soft cock away. Jack growled and cut the communication link to the Athena computer. Jack groaned as he slowly drew the zipper up. He chuckled and patted the zipper. His voice went into a sing-song. “Please consider proceeding to a secured location.”

“Hell,” Jack sighed.

“Ay ay ay.... Don’t worry. We had tonight.”

Jack pulled some money out of one of his pockets. “Drinks are on me, Papi.”

“Not a chance, Jackie.” He laughed as he scrambled to find something else to clean up the mess with. “Dios mio, I can afford a couple of tequilas.”

Jack tossed the money down. “Until next time, then.”

“You got some nerve, leaving me like this,” Gabe chuckled, cupping his own raging crotch. “What about next time?”

“It’s on me.” He pushed the money forward. “Maybe a little more for expenses.” Jack picked up the mask and looked around the room. “Gotta be hard to afford entry here.”

“I make do.” Gabe stood up and nudged the other man’s shoulder. “Go on. You need to ‘proceed’ before something else happens.”

The old soldier gave a weary nod and slunk out in the middle of a wad of people. He’d be just another person in the crowd in the eyes of whatever cameras were on him. Then he’d simply vanish into the night, going on wherever he was supposed to be next. There was a brief noise in the lobby and he could only assume that Jack had picked his baby up.

Gabe stared at the two tequilas, the limes and cherry. The world was empty again, as he waited for time to pass until they could steal some more time together. Hot blood throbbed in him and he’d be barely back on base before he’d need some time to take care of his own needs.

A young man in camouflage pants and a tight olive tee—a performer fresh and sweaty off the performance stage across the room—skipped up to his table. “Ehh... Jefe—need some company?”

Gabe barely spared the kid a glance. “Move along, niño.”

“Don’t need to be all alone, jefe.” He tried to sit in the booth next to Gabe. “You a fine man.” He reached for a glass and picked it up. “Got good taste in tequila, too.”

“Look niño—I’m way too old for you. Way too experienced.” He growled and shoved the young man off the booth. “Now, do us both a favor and move on. Pierdete!”

The performer or entertainer or whoever he was—the puto—frowned playfully and picked himself up to go on to the next table. The people at the next table cheered as he yanked off the tee and began writhing on their table.

Gabriel didn’t spare him another glance. He grabbed the money from Jack, tossed a bill onto the table and picked up his mask. There would be other times. He’d get another chance. But as he looked around a last time, he realized that there was just no one else he wanted. No amount of desperation that would make him whole, make him feel again.

Nobody but a tired old soldier in a mask could do that.

_That boy’s got my heart in a silver cage_


	4. Hanzo

The club throbbed with pumping music and Chloe stood against the wall. The target was supposed to be here tonight. Unfortunately, it was busy, and she was likely to miss him. It was going to be difficult no matter how good the intel was. She had one chance to make contact, one chance to make good and bring him in to Overwatch.

They may not approve of her methods—they truly didn’t approve of her methods, but Genji figured that her approach was most likely to succeed.

Genji had been adamant about this. His team was moving in on a yakuza trafficking ring, and the cybernetic ninja insisted that this man needed to be a part of things. There wasn’t anyone who knew that area and those people like he did, according to him. The stakes were high—thousands of people trafficked and potentially millions in cash—and Overwatch wanted to get everyone involved. And since the ninja insisted that this was the man who could make or break the mission, Overwatch was going to get him, no matter what.

The Brother Killer.

The Shimada Oyabun.

The Dragon of the North.

Hanzo.

The club that was informally called Crave was open to everyone that fit their image. If you had manners, a certain je ne sais quoi, and didn’t look like a hobo, you could conceivably get in. Once inside, you could find just about any taste catered to and could find just about anyone you could imagine. As long as you played by their rules, they didn’t care what you ultimately did.

As such, someone like Hanzo—cultured and mannered and ultimately danger in a bespoke suite—could slip in, get a few drinks, meet someone and slip out with ease.

He had been seen coming in and out. The rumor was that he had two or three waitresses that would let him in, slip him drinks, give him information. Usually, he wanted information on gang movements, on bounty hunters or the like. Even more rarely, he wanted information on Overwatch agents, but mostly that was to avoid them since he seemed to vanish off the face of the earth when they were nearby.

So the plan was to approach him here. Chloe was to get close, to talk to him. She was the bait to try to get a hold of him. Once she could get close, she was to hand over the small purse she carried and inside was the USB device with the offer. She didn’t know what the offer was except for the rumors that he was being pardoned in exchange for working with Overwatch. And since Genji was the source of the rumors, who knew if they were at all true?

Why on earth Genji didn’t speak to him like a normal person, no one really knew. For all that anyone knew, they had simply cursed each other out and tried to kill each other. He was a closed book on his past on the most anyone knew was just the scant details from the official, heavily redacted Overwatch record: his brother tried to kill him, Overwatch saved him, and now Hanzo moved from place to place and was a ghost who occasionally could be persuaded to assist someone—for the right price.

A ghost with amazingly detailed information that could mean the difference between thousands being freed and hundreds dying.

A bitter ghost who had refused contact on all official channels.

So, they had traced him to here—a room full of glittering and glamorous faces that would prefer to remain anonymous. He was supposed to be here tonight. The waitress had passed on the message—a meetup to discuss a job that needed to be discussed in person—and he had sent a message back to meet him here, tonight.

And so Chloe stood in her golden, borrowed designer dress, in her own Jimmy Choos with the wired up bag from Louis Vuitton. The servers and waitresses had been polite, attentive, and offered her various frilly drinks in crystal glassware. She ordered a tonic water and got a tumbler with an ice ball and a frilly toothpick with two Rainer cherries and a chunk of candied ginger. With something in her hand, the servers were content that she was fine and let her stand off to one side and watch people come and go.

Chloe kept one eye on the Omnic dancer and the other on the door. People kept coming in and out, largely ignoring her. A few people looked up at her, noted her clothes and the expensive haircut she had, and moved on. She kept sipping her drink, waiting to see if the elusive mercenary would show up after all.

Some time later she went to the elaborate restroom, and as she came back, she thought she saw him. A muscular, wary looking man in a suit scanned the room from the door. The stock photo said that he had jaw length hair, was clean shaven and looked kind of spoiled. This man was lean, muscular, in fact, almost feral wrapped in a suit with long, inky hair tied up at the back of his head and a thin mustache boxing his frown over a line of dark bear along his jaw and chin. One thick lock of hair hung over his eyes like a dark ink stain. There were a few light brushes of gray or silver at his temples.

He waved at a server, took a glass of something, and went on to sit at table in a dark corner, away from the little lit-up performance platforms. Of course there were dark tables, little places away from the spotlight, somewhere that illicit deals could be made and secrets could be traded. And of course, that is where he went.

He smiled at the ladies, leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. Hell, he acted like he owned the place and was simply waiting for the take for the night. One waitress came over with a menu, and he was not shy about grabbing her wrist and pulling her close. He must have balls of steel to bring her hand up to kiss her palm. She trembled a little, giggled in that way that suggested it was not the first time—and that it was not... unwelcome.

Chloe took in a deep breath. She needed him to notice her. She needed him to want to get closer to her. She needed him to get interested enough that he’d talk to her, spend time with her. She needed to attract his notice and keep his attention on her and not on the second waitress that was leaning over him with her breasts almost pushing out of her uniform. She needed him to not even notice anyone else—at least until she was done with him.

Recklessly, she ordered drinks—a pair of Hibiki 50 year whiskeys, on the rocks, with juicy moons of blood orange clinging to the edges—and let the waitress drop them off at his table. She tossed back the tonic water and gobbled the fruit and ginger to give her a mental boost before dropping it on a passing tray as the music throbbed.

_I walked into the room dripping in gold_

Chloe strolled in, back straight, head high. With the flashing lights, the layers of gold sequins and beads sparkled as if she was in a personal spotlight. She plastered a secretive smile on her face—the kind of shmoozing grin that every oily politician had before election day—and made eye contact with every single male.

Except Hanzo.

_A wave of heads did turn, or so I’ve been told_

Every man—and some of the women—returned her smile. Chloe went up to one of the stages and watched the sensual dancer. Then, recklessly, stepped up and began grinding against her. That made her squeak softly and then lean in to the long strokes. That caught the interest of everyone—turning heads as it appeared that something new was happening. Grins and smiles spread as attention locked on to her and the slinky dancer as gold sparkles filled the room.

As the gold sparkles mesmerized and danced, Chloe looked around. That was the secret to getting attention—giving it and making each person think that they were the center of the world. Each time she did, she felt her own excitement rise and prompted her to do more and more. One of them licked his lips as she mouthed the dancer’s ear. A woman in red traced her dress’s low neckline as Chloe cupped the dancer’s stomach. 

_My heart broke when I saw  
You kept your gaze controlled_

Every person seemed riveted to the erotic performance. Even the spotlight was locked on her. And, she laugh in her throaty, sexy way that made everyone think of what might happen now that the lights were dimming for the next performers. Chloe laughed again in the silence between music tracks which only added to the simmering heat and then stepped off the platform. Every eye was on her, she just knew it.

Except for Hanzo, who stared idly at the drinks on his table.

Chloe glided over to that darkened corner table and tugged the chair across from him. He did finally glance at her.

“And what was that all about?” he murmured.

Her smile spread as she laid back in her chair, copying his nonchalance. “Maybe I wanted to get your attention.” 

“And that’s why I have two whiskeys on my table, I suppose.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.” Leaning forward, she let the top of her dress droop slightly. He did finally glance at her décolletage and then grunted and looked away. “Maybe I really wanted to talk to you.”

_I must admit  
Do want me like the other boys do?_

“You were the one otherwise occupied,” he sighed. He leaned on his elbow and seemed about to yawn in boredom. “I seriously doubt that I was high on the list of priorities.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she giggled. “Why don’t we have a drink? Get to know each other.”

He picked up the glass and sniffed the whiskey. “Hibiki. 50 year.” He sniffed it again and took a sip to swirl in his mouth and then swallowed and set the glass down. “2027 or 28, unless I miss my guess.”

“Very good,” she whispered. “How did you know?”

He leaned back again. “Blame it on a very... exclusive education.”

Chloe set her bag on the table and shimmied slightly to let just a bit of the sequined dress shimmer. Just a taste of the sparkles like the after taste of champagne on the tongue. “Now I am interested.”

He shrugged. “It is not important.” His eyes drifted briefly to the dancer who was watching Chloe. The dancer gave another shimmy before being called over to a table. “And I think that someone else is missing your attention.”

Chloe didn’t know what else to say, so she let out a laugh again. “But I want your attention instead.” She knew a few people were still watching her, but Hanzo simply looked aside. “Someone who can taste a whiskey, tell me the brewer, the age, and the year—and still look that smoking hot in that suit—has my interest.”

Chloe watched as he tossed some money on the table and got ready to rise. Overwatch couldn’t risk him disappearing, so she leapt to her feet and bent her leg on the tabletop. The dress rode up her legs, showing an amazing amount of thigh. Despite the few noisy whistles, she leaned over to him with that same inviting smile.

“Why don’t you and I go somewhere private to discuss it?”

_They stare at me_

He finally looked at her. 

And she felt her whole body melt.

There was that white hot stare. The blaze that suggested sex and danger and all of the things that she had never thought of. He had that way of looking at her, making her feel like she was the center of his world and that he wanted that world to burn.

It was suddenly hot in here. She panted as he stood, his eyes locked with hers. He tugged the suit slightly and his hand landed on her bare thigh. Her eyes went to that dark hand on her bent leg. It was like he was branding her with his hot touch.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He leaned closer, close enough to smell his sweat and the lime notes of his cologne. His eyes went to the door, the servers milling around. His heat—he had a body like a furnace—swelled to wrap her in this ridiculous little dress and then to make her shiver. Still his hand clamped on her leg, as if by sheer will he could force her to be pinned to the table.

He picked up the silly purse, it looked like a napkin in his huge hand.

Every single particle of her being was focused on that touch. She could just about see the picture that they made with her legs spread, one bent on the table, with him casually pinning her down. She could feel his radiant heat, the rough ridges on his hands, the slight brush of the tailored shirt sleeve and fine wool of the coat. She could smell the slight lime cologne, the smoky spice of the whiskey on his breath.

Chloe felt the thick heat in her veins. Suddenly, she wanted more than a simple touch and talk. It was the thick feel of desire and lust and that insistent pulse in her belly. Everything seemed to dissolve away as he gave her thigh a presumptive squeeze. 

“Baby, we gotta get somewhere private,” Chloe whispered. “Somewhere we can... get to know each other.”

“I do not take orders—I give them,” he breathed into her neck. “And you... you are... very used to taking them, am I right?”

She nodded shakily, caught somewhere between his eyes and the sight of his hand gripping her. He didn’t even need to do anything. Just stand there and grip her like he owned her.

“You are used to taking orders.” He grunted softly, a barrel throated rumble as he leaned even closer. Close enough that the fine wool of his suit brushed against her dress, stirred the sequins so that they gleamed in the dim light. “I like that.”

Chloe nodded wildly. Her hand went to his chest. The cool wool and warm broadcloth covered hot, thick muscles. Not sculpted or swollen like a gym rats. Not padded muscles like most agents. No, this was the lean, thick muscles gained on the streets, fighting for survival. He felt wild, as different as a wolf from a pampered pedigreed pup, and untamed.

“Now,” he purred as he shifted again. A slight, half step away that made Chloe ache to move to follow him. “And I think that we will take the next step, don’t you?”

“Sure thing,” she panted.

“I will take this,” he murmured, holding up her purse.

“Okay.”

He rewarded her with a forward movement, stepping finally between her awkwardly spread legs. Every part of her from her prickling skin of her neck down to her knees seemed so very, very close to touching him, feeling him. Her hands traced down to his belt but quite expertly, he spun his hand to bat hers away.

He only smirked at her frustrated whine. “No, no, kitten.”

“Baby, I know you want to—.”

He leaned to whisper in her ear. “I give the orders.”

She nodded, her mouth dry and her eyes locked on his. “Okay.”

“And are you going to obey them?”

“Ye-yes....”

He took a moment to study the bag and then her. “Good.”

_They stare at me_

Chloe sighed and finally pressed against him. He felt as good as he looked. Despite the public place, the people coming and going and staring at them, the desperate necessity to get to him, Chloe whined in desperation to get him alone. Her fingers went to his waist to trace the fitted seam on his side, only to drop them when he shook his head ever so slightly.

“You do take orders,” he praised in a thick voice like honey. “And you do it so well.”

“Thanks,” she whimpered. A last rebellious streak rose up. “We can go to... a hotel and you can see how well I... obey.”

His hands clench tighter and his nostrils flared wildly for a moment. That untamed feeling wrapped around her again. She barely realized she was praying for him to accept when he smiled.

“You do obey well,” he nodded.

_While I... crave you._

He held up the purse so that she could barely see it out of the corner of her eye. “But I think that our business is concluded.”


End file.
